


Calcified Tears, Bottled Fears

by shrike (lililiyabbay)



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, M/M, Mentioned Lee Seokmin | DK, lethargy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lililiyabbay/pseuds/shrike
Summary: Jeonghan has a tight hold of everything in his life, hanging by a rope, and it never fails to get heavier the more time passes by. At first the rope digging into his palms started as a sore, then the heavier it becomes, the deeper it pierces.Alternatively, a lesson on how someone can change the way Jeonghan looks at life.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: OBSCURE SORROWS FIC FEST





	Calcified Tears, Bottled Fears

**Author's Note:**

> written for **obscure sorrows**
> 
> * **liberosis** n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.
>   
> 
> *  **dialecstatic** adj. hearing a person with a thick accent pronounce a certain phrase—the Texan “cooler,” the South African “bastard,” the Kiwi “thirty years ago”—and wanting them to repeat it over and over until the vowels pool in the air and congeal into a linguistic taffy you could break apart and give as presents.

There are quite a number of things that scares Jeonghan.

The first one is losing his job due to his mediocre performance at work, that will then leave him unemployed. With no income, he can’t keep his apartment either, not with the current rent rate. What will he do then? Can anyone guarantee he’d get another job at the speed of light? In the current job market with competition that consists of people a lot younger, more competent than him?

Jeonghan has a tight hold of everything in his life, hanging by a rope, and it never fails to get heavier the more time passes by. At first the rope digging into his palms started as a sore, then the heavier it becomes, the deeper it pierces. It depends on him whether he wants to let go first, or let the weight cut off his hands.

Lethargy fills his bones to the brim, something that he’s normalized since quite some time ago. His only drive comes from making sure he’s not on the verge of losing the things that barely sustain him until now.

Aside from his immediate family, these days, there are only three people in total whose calls Jeonghan will answer. Always. The first is Seokmin, a college friend. Another is Junhui, someone from work. Then there is Mingyu.

This last one is a rather recent development, one that Jeonghan can’t decide as anything other than temporary. Once he deems him detrimental to his life, it will add on another worry. How to keep him around, how to not let him leave, how to make him stay, how to make him choose him no matter what. Better to be safe by thinking it won’t be permanent, than him wounding up with the feeling of the pang of loss in the end.

Lately, he keeps eating lunch outside the office, yet another new development that comes with Mingyu’s appearance in his life. He’d rather eat at his desk, keeping busy with paperwork that never actually gets done until an hour before the deadline. So much simpler. It’s quite disgruntling to have his routine messed up, but Mingyu is more adamant than most people Jeonghan knows. 

“Just take this as a repayment,” Mingyu says, in a particular drawl that gradually comes to be familiar. Jeonghan hums.

It’s not so simple now. Whatever tentative friendship they have is built on paying each other back from the last time they had met up. The promises of next time based on feeling indebted leaves a sour aftertaste in Jeonghan’s mouth, but Mingyu is persistent in blocking whichever way out that Jeonghan attempts. He always ends up catering to what Mingyu wishes to do.

One reason that he never voices, but he thinks everyone knows, is that Mingyu’s whims form a decision for him. When Mingyu wants this, or that, he can’t reject not only because he doesn’t bother to do so, it’s also because he can’t find it in him to have so many things to want. It strikes wonder in him, how someone can be like that. And so, he kind of lives vicariously through the choices Mingyu makes. He just happens to be part of those choices.

Jeonghan doesn’t dream anymore.

According to science, everyone dreams, but Jeonghan can’t remember the last time he had one. This fact doesn’t strike him with indignation, until his sister calls him to tell how he appeared in her dreams and how that only happens because he doesn’t visit home nearly enough.

It irritates him, the sheer fact of him not dreaming anymore, but he doesn’t know if it’s because it pokes at the fact that he’s reluctant to go home, or if it’s because his lack of dreams makes his entire existence simply bleak.

So, he resorts to asking Mingyu.

_Did you dream? What was it about?_

Questions he would otherwise not at all utter to anyone, knowing if it was anyone else, they’d be staring in apprehension before thinking about answering at all. Mingyu answers him every time, with no fail, leaving Jeonghan wondering if he has such vivid memories to remember all his dreams or if he just makes one up on the spot for him.

No matter. In the end, those dreams Mingyu tells him are the very same ones Jeonghan echoes back to his sister, claiming those were his. The way he recounts pales in comparison to how Mingyu animatedly describes the bizarre events in the dreams, the way his voice weaves words into the air, but Jeonghan’s sister doesn’t ask. He knows it’s because even him speaking this much is a thing worth celebrating already, compared to how it used to be. 

The first time Jeonghan talks to someone about Mingyu is Junhui. It’s unintentional, a slip of the tongue, when Junhui asks whose umbrella he is using. Jeonghan is notoriously stubborn—not one to change his ways, including his belief in umbrellas. He’d either wait it out or storm through the rain than buy a new umbrella, because even if he’s using one, the winds tend to blow hard enough to make the water get on him anyway. Especially in this rainy season.

“Mingyu’s,” Jeonghan answers, the name rolling off his tongue easily. “So insistent.”

Incomprehension flashes across Junhui’s face, racking his brain to find some familiarity only to fail. Panic fills Jeonghan’s spine, worried he’d spilled too much. An acknowledgment of the acquaintance he’s made of Mingyu.

Junhui, thankfully, gets too distracted by trying to remember if he knows any Mingyus.

That occurrence only had to happen once for Jeonghan to entirely seal his mouth shut, being notably more and more secretive and cautious. Even the only person in common that they have, Seokmin, has not learned anything about them.

For someone who doesn’t have it in him to go out and mingle anymore, Jeonghan unexpectedly bumped into Mingyu at a wedding, of all places. Seokmin had wanted to bring a plus one, but his date bailed last minute and Jeonghan was begged to fill the role.

It’s mortifyingly cliche, which is another reason Jeonghan doesn’t want to talk about it, but he and Mingyu only started talking because he spilled punch all over Mingyu’s clothes.

He was not in the best mood after being dragged into such an event, with the risk of running into the very same people from college that he lost in touch with. Cranky to the bone, for that day alone, he couldn’t be bothered to put up pretenses to be friendly. Trying to calm his headache in some way, he turned around, paying little attention, then crashed into something solid.

Mingyu was kind—still is, until now—especially when he saw whatever was on Jeonghan’s face when he was in shock and staring at the stain seeping into the fabric of Mingyu's suit. Jeonghan insisted on paying the laundry cost, but Mingyu practically pleaded for Jeonghan to take the suit jacket with him. He had to deliver the washed clothing himself when it was done, making him see Mingyu in flesh again.

Somehow Mingyu translates this into treating Jeonghan to lunch as a thanks, then Jeonghan had to repay. It was his fault in the first place, he should be the one paying for the meal as a sorry.

This is the tentative pattern they fell into and still are in. Jeonghan never fails to realize how stupid it actually is, but Mingyu’s insistence brings freshness to his life. No one else has bothered to push his buttons the way Mingyu does in quite a long time, and he knows it wouldn’t happen in the first place because he’s never let anyone in, until Mingyu comes along with all his brashness.

“ _Can I come by your place?_ ”

Mingyu’s voice comes in crisp over the speaker, loud whooshing of the wind taking over once he goes quiet waiting for an answer.

It sends Jeonghan into a momentary panic. He can’t remember the last time he had people over, has forgotten how to make his space presentable. Though Mingyu is asking for permission, and would be perfectly fine if Jeonghan said no, the undying guilt wins after he thinks of how he texted Mingyu he just got home about twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Jeonghan answers.

Stupid, he calls himself, once the line goes dead after Mingyu’s elated ‘see you!’. He didn’t even ask why Mingyu wanted to come over in his panic. It’s not as if he has the time to wallow, because not long, he’s thrown himself into tidying up his place. Considering where Mingyu works, and assuming he’s departing from there, it won’t take much time until he arrives.

There is seemingly a short span of time until the bell rings, together with a text notification pinging Jeonghan’s phone.

Jeonghan opens the door to Mingyu wrapped in a padding jacket, face almost buried. “Did you take the cab here?”

“No, but I did just walk for, like, 20 minutes in the cold.”

Jeonghan blinks at him, then leaves him at the doorstep to check on his phone. It really has been a little over twenty minutes since Mingyu’s call.

On his volition, Mingyu enters the living room, looking left and right. He’s still in that padding jacket.

“I’ll hang that,” Jeonghan says, extending a hand. When he walks away to put it on his coat hanger, he remembers he still has some jasmine tea that his mom shipped over. Hot tea would probably be good for Mingyu.

There is fortunately some honey left from the last time Jeonghan made breakfast, so he makes himself busy with the tea as Mingyu acquaints himself with Jeonghan’s space. It is too obviously empty to serve a guest only with a drink, but Jeonghan can’t remember if he has anything that is not frozen food or ramen. He doesn’t even have crackers, can’t recall the last time he had actual snacks. Still, under silent distress, he rummages through his fridge and gets pleasantly surprised at a few jars of jam wedged in its door.

“Strawberry or pineapple?” Jeonghan asks. He’s too relieved to mind what Mingyu is doing in his living room.

“Uh, strawberry.” Mingyu sounds caught off guard, and it’s another reason aside from his choice that makes Jeonghan quirk the corners of his lips. He knows he still has bread, thankfully, but he’s not sure if it’s not stale. To check while Mingyu is around and could see what he’s doing already hurts his dignity when he thinks about it, so Jeonghan prays the bread is fine before he slathers the red jam generously on its surface.

“My mom and sister make these homemade jams sometimes,” Jeonghan explains, precarious in his steps as he brings over the cup of tea and a plate of bread slices. “They send me a few jars from time to time, and they’re to die for.”

For him, this is already talking too much. He’s gotten used to long silences with himself that he finds keeping a conversation going so taxing. He’d honestly say more, because Mingyu’s eyes shine with the expectation of a continuation, but all his energy has been sucked dry by the whirlwind of shock, anxiety, relief, and then pride that he experienced in less than fifteen minutes.

Mingyu is unusually keen in picking up what Jeonghan doesn’t bother to say. Today, it comes as a blessing. “These make such a good snack,” he comments around a mouthful of bread, “maybe I should consider ordering a few jars.”

Jeonghan hums. His mind is taking him on a trip to memories he hasn’t touched in years, of weekend mornings of him going to the farmer’s market with his dad to buy some fresh produce, then later in the kitchen he’d poke around as his mom and sister were making jam. He was never allowed in the kitchen in the sense that he does more disaster than actual helping, has always been so, but the warmth of these mornings, brought by sunlight through the open windows, is suddenly vivid on his skin. Somehow, it’s as though he’s never moved forward past this point of time, yet he’s also already somewhere far away.

“…han.”

“Yeah?”

Jeonghan has not been paying attention at all, mind faraway into the past though his body is half-buried in his couch next to Mingyu. The last syllable of his name sounds different on Mingyu’s tongue, enunciated differently to how other people would. That’s all he can keep repeating in his head until he can ground himself in the present again.

As if waiting for Jeonghan’s eyes to stop clouding over, Mingyu only speaks then. “Do you want to postmates anything? I’m still hungry.”

Focusing is difficult, but Mingyu’s steady mumble pulls Jeonghan out, and he blinks for a good amount of time before he answers. “Not really,” Jeonghan pauses. “Are you embarrassed?”

Bashfulness colors Mingyu’s face, though Jeonghan only connects the dots when Mingyu doesn’t pipe up for a moment. Surprisingly, this view brings a smile to Jeonghan’s lips. One part amused and the other part adoring. He forgot how Mingyu’s appetite is gigantic when compared to his. “I’ll have whatever you have.”

The smile is already gone, tucked away securely, when Mingyu looks up in surprise. Jeonghan is asked several times more before Mingyu finally orders the food, a smile of his own lifting up every feature on his face. 

The winds are bearable today, the chill dissuaded by the shy stream of sunlight piercing through gray clouds. It’d be a nice day to walk around, looking for a place to have lunch in, as the pavement feels steady under the soles of his shoes. The imagery is quickly shattered, though, by Junhui’s request to have Jeonghan to himself during lunch. 

Initially, it wasn’t annoying, but Jeonghan gets slightly irked the more Junhui apologizes. “Let’s just get it done,” he cuts through another apology. He knows that this is necessary, anyway, which is why he hates for it to be a big deal. This time, Junhui gets it and immediately pulls his laptop out. As a compensation, he treats Jeonghan to a sandwich from the fancy deli somewhere in their building. 

After the first fifteen minutes of focused discussion and thinking, they fall into silence that’s only accompanied by their own typings. Jeonghan’s head is muddy the way it hasn’t been for a few weeks now, but he manages to go through the structured list of priorities in his head. It was the only way he could handle his work without letting it crumble completely, and he hasn’t had the need to use it again until today. 

Suddenly, Junhui speaks. 

“Is this okay?”

Jeonghan nods. He starts peeking glances at his sandwich. There’s a rustle from Junhui’s side, but he still doesn’t look up. 

“I didn’t specify, though.”

This time, Jeonghan reaches out for the sandwich and patiently unwraps the sandwich. He’s mindful to keep his fingers from trembling too much. “It’s just okay,” he says, before taking a big bite out of the sandwich. 

Another silence. One where Jeonghan knows how he must look, with his hunches raised and guards up. If he was with Seokmin, the topic would be dropped entirely, but this is Junhui. He never knows what to expect. 

“Is it okay that you can’t go out for lunch?” 

For some reason, the word _lunch_ in Mingyu’s voice resounds in Jeonghan’s head. The roll of the word off his tongue is distinct from how Jeonghan pronounces it. It unexpectedly loosens the screws in his shoulders and spine, but with it, comes a weird pang that only appears with Mingyu’s absence. 

Without realizing, Jeonghan has paused his chewing, and when he snaps back to his own body, he resumes. He digs around in his brain for what Junhui previously asked, then nods. His left hand is restlessly scrolling through his trackpad while the other is trying to not squeeze the sandwich too hard.

“Is Mingyu okay with it?”

Ah, of course. In retrospect, maybe Jeonghan should’ve expected this. No matter how carefree Junhui looks, there is a part of him that is incredibly perceptive and observant. One thing that Jeonghan both likes and dislikes in him. 

Jeonghan swallows one last time before he gingerly puts down his food. “Yeah, he said it’s okay.”

It’s not that Jeonghan ever specifically told him that he has something at work that he needs to finish, but Mingyu understood nonetheless. Just a simple, ‘Can’t go out today,’ and that’s it. He received a lot of reminders to not skip lunch after sending out the text, each ping of the notification forcing him to bite down on a budding smile. It’d be more ideal if he could call Mingyu then, to hear his voice dipped in his accent, his lisp, but Jeonghan couldn’t risk being overheard – the thought of Mingyu being somewhat sacred and private. 

The gaze Junhui has on him is starting to prickle as the quiet stretches. After feeling like something has dislodged inside his chest, though, Jeonghan is too relieved to mind it. In the end, Junhui simply says, “Okay, then,” and doesn’t prod for more. 

Instead of the regret that Jeonghan expected to fill his spine, uttering his acknowledgement of Mingyu into the air leaves him somewhat light. It might be just because he said it to Junhui, but this information is something he quietly tucks in the folds of his brain. Unlike the few previous times he tried his hand at meeting people, talking about them to his loved ones had always been unpleasant. This time, though, it feels like there is a reassuring caress on his back. The thought of Mingyu probably being just as open, or even more, to other people about Jeonghan attributes to the calm as well. 

Ruckus coming from his kitchen still bears some getting used to. Jeonghan didn’t have any qualms about helping Mingyu, but after the fourth time he elbowed Mingyu, he gave up and escaped to the living room where he’s still in now. He prays to god that there is nothing in his kitchen that is broken. 

Not long after Jeonghan thinks that, Mingyu walks out of the kitchen, mittens still on and face slightly damp from heat. A pot in his hands is precariously placed on the coffee table, a delicious smell wafting off its surface. 

“You worked so hard,” Jeonghan says, failing to keep the ends of his lips from turning up, “thank you.”

At this, Mingyu grumbles, a noise that sounds like it’s swallowed in his chest. His face is visibly flustered, but he says, “Stop mocking me. I only reheated the food.”

The curve of Jeonghan’s lips turn into a full blown smile, a pull of muscle that has not felt familiar to him until recently. Mingyu is a fast enough speaker that sometimes a few of his syllables are molded into one another, yet Jeonghan always catches what he means each time. 

Mingyu makes two other rounds of going to the kitchen and back to the living room to bring back the last of what they need before they start eating. 

It’s when they’re properly seated that Jeonghan notices. He reckons he should’ve realized since when they were in the kitchen – Mingyu has his sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms, and in the middle of his left one, there is an enormously ugly bruise that looks like it’d be at least tender to the touch.

“Where did you get that?” Jeonghan asks, gaze not budging from where it’s landed on. 

“Oh, this nice little Chinese place,” Mingyu starts to prattle, lisp coming in full force. “It’s kind of small? So, it’s a bit hidden—”

“The bruise,” Jeonghan cuts, “what happened?”

This seems like a question that takes Mingyu aback, enough to stun him into silence where Jeonghan interprets he’s trying to comprehend the question, and the reason why it’s asked. Once it clicks, it’s too late to pretend there wasn’t a silence that swallowed them for almost a full minute, but Mingyu tries anyway. Jeonghan presses his lips together, holding back another smile. 

“You should see the doors at the building of my office.” Mingyu starts rubbing at the bruise, carelessly enough that Jeonghan wants to grimace. “They’re pretty heavy, and I tried to stop one from crashing on me.”

Leaving one last lingering glance at the discolored skin, Jeonghan shifts and starts pouring soup into his bowl. He doesn’t know how to respond in a way that doesn’t shock Mingyu much, positively or negatively, so he chooses to be predictable by being evasive.

He knows, though, that Mingyu must know by asking alone means Jeonghan didn’t only notice – he wanted to know. And while Jeonghan is appeased today, he knows he will be increasingly less satisfied with how he is going now. In his fresh memory, it’s no longer them competitively paying each other back, as he can only remember how it’s Mingyu who keeps giving and giving, no regards whether Jeonghan will receive or give back or neither. 

The only time Jeonghan feels like he can be bare is with Mingyu. And these days he finds himself reaching for that feeling over and over. It's the only time he allows himself to want, not that he does anything about it, but to innately want something only comes along when he's completely bare and can be candid with himself. More often than not, Jeonghan wants to do for Mingyu what Mingyu has done for him. 

“You know,” Jeonghan says, later when they’re full and Mingyu is rushing in with a tall glass of water, “I don’t know how you’re doing this.” He motions to the water, which he knows is hot because Mingyu just boiled it for him, because apparently it’s better for his digestion. He almost gestures to himself, to both of them, to the entire room. “How are you okay with this?”

The glass of water hangs suspended in the air, before Mingyu snaps back into his senses and sets it down on the table with a muted clang. “I want to,” he answers, face earnest. 

“It’s—”

“It’s stupid, I know,” Mingyu finishes for him, “but I still want to do it. And I don’t need you to do anything about it.”

Something heavy forms in the base of Jeonghan’s throat the more Mingyu talks, and with difficulty, he swallows it down. “I wanted to say that it’s nice,” he mutters, ducking his head right after and washing it down with the water Mingyu brought. 

That is as much gratitude that Jeonghan can show now, though it feels lacking and insufficient, doesn’t convey even an eighth of the appreciation he feels toward Mingyu. 

Mingyu feels like a salve, soothing and caring in his own way. To Jeonghan, he is an option to share a part of his own burden, but he ends up being so much better than that. He makes Jeonghan’s days bearable, pains durable, and desire available.

Jeonghan has a tight hold of everything in his life, hanging by a rope, and it never fails to get heavier the more time passes by. At first the rope digging into his palms started as a sore, then the heavier it becomes, the deeper it pierces. Now there are sores all over his hands, but he’s gotten better at treating them as he goes. He doesn’t think he’ll let go. 

He can hear Mingyu hum, then the rustle of him settling down more comfortably next to him. There must be a lot that Mingyu wants to say, Jeonghan can pretty much feel the unspoken words press down on him, but he lets it be. The silence is nice, too, something practiced between them. As always, it allows Jeonghan to think, permits him to manage his thoughts and put them in order. 

Another time, he might try harder to mind the weight of the quiet and let the dam inside him break, but not now. 

**Author's Note:**

> i looooved writing this so much, tried my best to incorporate the words i got into the story as well. jeonghan's character in this is based on left alone by fiona apple, and i could talk for hours about his characterization. also guess where the title of the fic comes from lol
> 
> thank u so much to the mods for being lovely n running this fest! the concept of the fest is so so lovely n im so glad i had the opportunity to contribute. thank U for reading n i hope u enjoyed it ♡
> 
> (psssst if u did enjoy it, please do consider supporting me on [kofi](https://ko-fi.com/moonpluto) during these bizarre times)
> 
> stay home, stay safe, keep ur distance, nourish urself, wash ur hands!
> 
>   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/plutoruled)


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